


Backpedal

by Laerkstrein



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerkstrein/pseuds/Laerkstrein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cuddy cuts him loose, House reflects on his choice between a meaningful relationship and his addiction to Vicodin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backpedal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6833169/1/Backpedal) on my FF.N account on 03.17.11.
> 
> Based on Season 7 Episode 15, "Bombshells."

Truth be told, he'd been scared to death. From the start, the news had been too much for him to handle, and, after debating with himself, House had retreated to his "sanctuary," leaving the rest of the world behind. The decision to revert to his old ways hadn't exactly been an easy one. He'd known that there would be dire consequences if Cuddy were to find out, but the scenarios of such things had sad idly at the back of his mind, having been kicked by his addiction.

It had only been after Cuddy's cruel visit, and his uncharacteristic begging, that he'd realized the Vicodin hadn't been worth the ink printed on the label. The mistake had been made, and there was no way to wind back the clock or erase her memories of such things. Clearly, the look on his face, as she'd popped the drug question, had confirmed all her suspicions.

The logic behind his decision, although it had been a foolish one, weren't too difficult. He'd never been too keen on engaging in the "self-mutilation" that the rest of humanity dealt with in terms of pain and suffering. House's thought process was far more simplistic than that: You either trudge through it, or you find a back door and go around. He'd chosen the latter, and it had proven to be a fatal mistake.

He glanced at the clock on the table beside him, the bright red numbers having burned themselves into his mind: 1:39. Even four hours after his pathetic begging, he was still feeling like crap. So, he'd screwed up out of fear. It didn't seem like a good enough reason for her to have broken it off. Sure, he should have been there with her through it all, but doing that would have been about the same as running about like a lost child.

But, no matter how he thought about it, it has still been wrong. He'd sat there with her most of the time, staring blankly at the walls or windows as he waited irritably for any kind of news. At least once, she'd turned in her bed, her hand falling on his knee.

 _"Don't leave me..."_ she'd said.

There was nothing else to say aside from: "God, I screwed up..."


End file.
